


haec ego non multis scribo, sed tibi

by Mossgreen



Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [21]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Latin, M/M, Master/Slave, Over-abundance of Latin, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Writing on Skin, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 02:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15809349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen
Summary: A naked Ven and a clothed Master with a permanent marker sounds like trouble for Ven.Title translation:I am writing this not to many, but to you





	haec ego non multis scribo, sed tibi

"What are you doing, Master?" Ven enquired. He was lying on his back on his master's bed, nude, while his master reclined beside him, still clothed, and holding a pen. Ven recognised the pungent scent of the permanent marker as Master uncapped it.

"I don't recall giving you permission to ask a question," Master said, though his tone was light even as Ven's eyes jolted up to meet his in contrition. Ven relaxed fractionally at the good-humoured expression he read on his master's face, though that didn't settle the question of what he was going to do with that pen.

"I beg forgiveness. _May_ I ask what you are doing, Master?" he tried instead.

"You may not." He sounded amused, thankfully, rather than angry. "Stay still."

His master, a permanent marker and a naked Ven sounded like a bad combination to Ven, though it was likely to be infinitely less painful and far less uncomfortable than a whole lot of _other_ things his master had done with him. He lay pliant as his master took his right arm and moved it away from his body, shifting around him to press the tip of the pen's fine nib lightly to the inside of his wrist.

A slightly cold ticklish sensation moved in a thin scrawl up his arm, though it was not one continuous line. Ven thought at first his master was drawing on him but the pen lifted, resumed its motion, lifted, made a quick dash... he was writing on him.

"There." Master sat back, allowing Ven to lift his arm to see what had been inscribed there. _servus nōn habet persōnam_

"A slave has no legal personhood?" he said, looking up at his owner. "I _know_ that, Master. With all respect, I don't know why you would think I _don't_ know that."

"Ssh." He moved to Ven's shoulder, tapped under Ven's chin with the pen until he tipped his head back and began inscribing something across his collarbones at about the level the neckline of his tunic would sit. Ven gave him a quizzical look, uncertain whether he could ask about that or whether his master had meant for him to remain silent.

His master laughed. " _īnstrūmentum vōcale_ , Ven, though you stopped talking at the most interesting point. I can see in your face that you want to ask something. You may ask."

"Why label me with what we both know I am, Master? In writing, I mean."

"Because I like writing on you. It is no less true, whether it is visible or not. Keep still."

And naturally he'd now moved, kneeling astride him to access Ven's left arm. Despite the order, Ven could not help turning his head to watch the words being formed.

 _homō, nōn persōna sum_ appeared, a letter at a time in Master's neat handwriting, down Ven's arm. 

"Quotes on a theme, Master?"

"Those are," Master said, amused, capping the pen and looking down at Ven as he lay there, the lettering black against his skin. "Let me see," he continued, thoughtfully.

Ven lay there, waiting, looking up curiously at his master who was still kneeling above him, fully clothed. His eyes widened as his master leaned down, pressing his mouth insistently to Ven's, kissing him. Ven responded, although his master naturally dominated the kiss, taking what he would before sitting back, the cloth of his tunic a light tease against Ven's skin as he blinked up at his master before cautiously raising a hand to his lips, running his fingertips whisper-light across them, not quite believing what had just happened.

"You've... you've never kissed me before, Master," he said, afraid to break whatever spell this was.

"Have I not?" The usual arrogant, coolly commanding attitude was back, though softened a little – or maybe that was wishful thinking on Ven's part.

The scent of the pen was pungent as Master removed the lid again, though whatever he was planning to do with it, he didn't begin immediately, preferring to tease at Ven's nipples until his slave was breathing hard, looking up through green eyes gone somewhat glazed.

"Stay still." An inflexible order, given with the absolute expectation of being obeyed without regard for how hard it would be to obey. How typically Roman, Ven thought, trying to breathe normally, although the evidence of his arousal would surely be felt if his master moved back even a fraction of an inch.

The pen's nib was cold against his chest as his master began writing, inscribing words Ven could not read upside-down, and would never be able to read looking in the mirror. He didn't quite dare to voice his curiosity, if his master was back to his usual self.

"Martial," his master said, capping the pen again and resuming his previous position, reclining on his left arm next to Ven, precisely as he would recline at table for a formal dinner. Which made Ven the meal, he thought.

Master ran his hand over Ven's chest, smoothing the words he had just written there. 

"Very pretty," he said, making Ven wonder, suddenly, if people had forgotten that there were adjectives other than 'pretty' in the Latin language, or if somehow his status as a fucktoy meant that was the only one people thought applicable to him. As if he could no longer be handsome or good-looking, but had to be merely pretty, like a girl. Just because he took his master's cock in his arse.

"Turn over."

Ven hastily complied, automatically spreading his legs once he was on his belly, and turning his head to the side to watch his master, who seemed in no hurry to do anything in particular with him. His erection was trapped beneath him, not painfully, but insistently.

"You have the most luscious bum," Master told him, stroking a hand down his back to cup his arse, before slapping it, hard.

"Thank you, Master!"

The pen touched his right shoulder, and he tried not to twitch at the unexpected sensation. He had been turned into a living notepad for his master's writing, and notepads did not move when you wrote on them.

" _irrumābō tū_ ," Master told him, then, " _impudīcus es_ ," he continued, the pen inscribing something – probably what Master had just said – on his left shoulder.

Ven breathed out. Being taken in the arse was one thing, but being forced to take a prick in the mouth was even more degrading... not that you _could_ degrade a slave, who was almost expected to show sexual shamelessness.

" _catamīte_ ," was written across his spine a little lower and " _cinaede_ " was also written across his spine, about halfway down his back.

" _pathice_ ," was written in the small of his back, and then " _pēdīcābō tū_ ," on his left buttock and " _sed pulchre cēvēs_ " on the right.

At least that little lot would be covered by his tunic until he could be sure the ink had faded, he thought. Master rarely liked him to parade around the house in any state that would demonstrate his present status as Master's _concubīnus_ , with the exception of the harness around his prick and balls and whatever plug or dildo master had put in him. How long did permanent marker take to fade, if you couldn't reach it to scrub it off? Two or three days, perhaps?

He would have to shower in the middle of the day when he could be fairly sure of having the slaves' wet-room to himself while everyone else was busy with their chores.

He felt the bed dip and move as Master rolled off, leaving him spread, hard, aching. There was the distinctive sound of a camera shutter (Master seemingly hadn't switched the sound off for whatever reason, which was a little surprising.) Several photos of his back, or of him lying there, of the writing, whatever. At least none of the photos showed his face.

"Turn over." The order was not unexpected, really. Ven rolled over, pliantly allowing Master to position his arms however he wanted, that would display the writing on them as legibly as possible, so Master could take a whole new set of pictures, likely including his erect prick in all its glory.

"All right. Shift down the bed until you can sit on the edge, then turn back over and kneel, head down."

There was only one reason Master wanted him in that position, and he was right. "You are my pretty boy, Ven," Master breathed, sheathing his prick in Ven's arse with little effort once the butt-plug had been removed and set aside. The feel of Master's tunic and unzipped trousers against Ven's bare skin was another of the things Ven would never grow used to.

He let out a quiet huff of amusement, even as he rocked back, trying to fuck himself on his master's prick. "I'm far too old to be a pretty-boy, Master, surely?"

He had no real idea at what age that designation expired, but it must surely be before a slave reached twenty-five.

"You are no _puer dēlicātus_ , but you are pretty enough that people envy me," Master told him. "Now shut up and let me fuck you. Once I've come, you may turn over, sit up and jerk yourself off."

Humiliation mixed with his arousal almost constantly, Ven did not think he could separate them any more. For his master to humiliate him was almost for his master to make him aroused, whether that was in private like this, or whether Master was using him to demonstrate such skill or some new product for Phallusy. It was all done so casually, too, although that was more than likely a veneer... Master knew precisely what he was doing at any time, never did things accidentally and played Ven like a flautist played his double flute.

Master's thrusting was speeding up, getting harder, and it could not be long before he spilled. Ven's own breathing was getting more ragged; he never knew whether Master aimed deliberately for that spot inside him that made him see stars, or whether it was purely accidental, and he didn't like to ask, either – if Master found out that Ven was getting any pleasure from this act at all, he would more than likely change things so that he didn't. A slave's pleasure came from serving his master, after all, not from anything the master did or didn't do for the slave.

Master eventually came with a groan. It was a few moments before he pulled out, replacing his softening prick with the hard unyielding plastic plug Ven had had inside him all day.

"Turn around, sit on the edge of the bed, spread your legs. I want to see you jerk yourself off, so make it a good show."

He leaned back on his right hand, wrapping his left hand around his erect prick. "May I... Please, Master, may I take the harness off?" he asked, knowing full well that however much he stroked himself, he would never be able to come with it on.

Master had sat down in his chair, facing Ven, and gave a quick gesture of acquiescence. He fumbled with the straps for a moment before it came undone; it was always Master who removed it and replaced it. He set it aside and went back to working at his already straining cock.

He slowed his hand as he drew nearer and nearer the point of no return.

"Master... may I.... c- come... please?"

"You may."

Ven's head fell back as he came, spilling into his hand. He did so almost silently; slaves learned to keep it quiet when engaged in sexual activities in the dormitory, and generally only made sounds for their masters, when told to.

"Lick your hand clean, and you may clean yourself off with a cloth in the bathroom before you put your harness back on."

It was the work of only a few moments to get himself clean, and he came to sit by his master, leaning his head against his thigh so his master could run his fingers through his hair.

The television went off, startling him awake – when had he fallen asleep? And would Master be annoyed with him for doing so?

"Undress me, pet."

Ven reached for the fine leather belt around his master's waist, unbuckling it and rolling it up before placing it on the desk. He carefully drew his master's tunic over his head, laying it neatly over the back of the desk chair, then knelt to unlace his indoor sandals, setting them aside. Lastly, his trousers and boxers came off, the former being draped over the tunic and the latter going in the hamper for the house-slaves to deal with when they did the laundry.

"Bed, pet," Master said, indicating that Ven should join him, rather than going to his own mattress in the corner (or his own cot in the slaves' dormitory, a bed-space he technically still occupied but very rarely slept in now).

The lights turned off, Ven found his master spooning up against him, asleep almost instantly, leaving Ven awake to consider his situation until sleep eventually claimed him, too.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Translations:**  
>  _servus nōn habet persōnam_ \- A slave has no persona (meaning no legal identity)  
>  _īnstrūmentum vōcale_ \- A tool that speaks, a definition of slaves included in a list of farm equipment in the writings of Varro (tools that speak i.e. slaves; tools that cannot talk i.e. the animals; and the voiceless i.e. farm implements)  
>  _homō, nōn persōna sum_ \- I am a human being but not one with a legal identity.  
>  _irrumābō tū_ – I will facefuck you  
>  _impudīcus e_ s – You are shameless/lewd  
>  _pathice_ – vocative ( that is, the form of the word used when directly addressing someone) of ' _pathicus_ ' – an adult male who takes the passive role. Not quite analogous of 'faggot' in modern BDSM culture because the dominant partner could equally be female as male. The deciding factor was that the _pathicus_ wanted to be on the receiving end, whoever was in the active role.  
>  _catamīte_ – the Latin pronounces this as four syllables, with the final 'e' being pronounced. The diacritic turns the 'i' into 'ee'. The vocative form of ' _catamītus_ ' which generally denotes the younger, receptive partner in a m/m relationship, and originally comes from the Latinised version of the name Ganymede.  
>  _cinaede_ – vocative of cinaedus. A hard word to translate, it also refers to the receptive male in a m/m relationship. I have generally translated it 'fucktoy'.  
>  _sed pulchre cēvēs_ – 'but you move your arse so prettily', referring to the actual motions of the person receiving anal sex.  
>  _pēdīcābō tū_ – I will bugger you  
>  _concubīnus_ – bed-slave, male concubine  
>  _puer dēlicātus_ – delicate boy, pretty boy. The "exquisite" or "dainty" child-slave chosen by his master for his beauty as a "boy toy" and cast in the passive role of receiving anal penetration 
> 
> For further Latin crudities and a primer in pronunciation, please read [this post](https://mossgreen.dreamwidth.org/6158.html) on my DW journal. (I've set the journal to 18+ but it's not locked.)
> 
> The word _persona_ in Latin carries connotations and an understanding that we don't need to quantify in English where all people have equal rights under the law, but is a distinction made in Latin where slaves were humans but lacked a number of rights that free people, even non-citizens, had. _persona_ signifies a legal identity, a personality, a freedom of person and expression (Latin is a beautifully concise language that frequently ties several ideas up in one word.)
> 
> I went with Martial 11:8 (that's Epigram 8 from Book 11 of his writings, BTW!) The site I used for the Latin doesn't give the diacritic marks Latin uses to show long vowels (which means some words are spelt wrong, according to my Latin teacher's standards!) but here's the text and a decent, though not poetic translation. I personally prefer prose translations of poetry because they get closer to the actual meaning of the text, translators who go for poetry tend to wander away from the literal meaning of the words.
> 
> Lassa quod nesterni spirant opobalsama dracti,  
> ultima quod curvo quae cadit nura croco;  
> poma quod hiberna maturescentia capsa,  
> arbole quod verna luxuriosus ager;  
> de Palatinis dominae quod Serica prelis,  
> sucina virginea quod regelata manu;  
> amphora quod nigri, sed longe, fracta Falerni,  
> quod qui Sicanias detinet hortus apes;  
> quod Cosmi redolent alabastra focique deorum,  
> quod modo divitibus lapsa corona comis:  
> singula quid dicam? Non sunt satis; omnia misce  
> hoc fragrant pueri basia mane mei.  
> Scire cupis nomen? Si propter basia, dicam.  
> Jurasti. Nimium scire, Sabine, cupis. 
> 
> The aroma of wilted balsam in yesterday's vases, the last smell that falls from the curved saffron; apples ripening in their winter box, a field luxurious with spring trees; of silks from our Mistress's Palatine clothes presses, amber thawed in a virgin's hand, a broken bottle of black Falernian wine, but from far away, or a garden keeping Sicanian bees; the scent of Cosmus's alabaster and the hearths of the gods, or of a garland just fallen from rich locks: why do I talk of these things? They are not enough; all mixed together, this is the fragrance of my boy's morning kisses. You want to know his name? If it's because of the kisses, I will say it. You swear. Sabinus, you want to know too much


End file.
